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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307897">Frozen Hands.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EBOYGHOSTY/pseuds/EBOYGHOSTY'>EBOYGHOSTY</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Artist Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Artist x Author, Author GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eventual Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:15:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EBOYGHOSTY/pseuds/EBOYGHOSTY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i><br/>George had not intended to stare; it was not something he did. Ever. So, when he caught himself gazing at the blondes large hands holding his steamy coffee and smiling at the way his lip slightly upturned as he drank the beverage, he knew he was fucked. <i></i></i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>  <i></i></i><br/><i>✧˖*°࿐</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ⇢ ˗ˏˋ one࿐ྂ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The other smiled, "My name's Dream, by the way, nice to meet you." </p><p>George looked back up at him, "Dream?" He sought before giggling, "You truly live up to your name, huh-" He said before pausing, the blush previously on his face turning a deep shade of red, "I mean- My name is George."</p><p>This was a shitshow already.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>I can portray him in my mind.<br/>
His cheeks were rosy as he poked his tongue out in focus.<br/>
His hand gliding across the dull page, creating a world of colour.<br/>
God. I fucking miss him.<br/>
And we never even introduced ourselves. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>George glanced down at his page and groaned, holding a hand flat against his forehead as he laid his pen down, disregarding the ink that splattered across his page as he did so.</p><p>That damn boy will not leave his mind. The boy whose skin held a bronzed hue, but the pink covering his cheeks and nose still broke across his skin. His hair was a golden blonde in the sun outside, yet as he entered the shop, it became a light brown, amidst an undertone of blonde that gleamed against the shop's overhead lights.</p><p>He had sat down at a table after ordering from the good-looking lady that served at the counter; George did not know what drink he had purchased, but when it had arrived at his table, he could tell it was some sort of coffee.</p><p>George had not intended to stare; it was not something he did. Ever. So, when he caught himself gazing at the blondes large hands holding his steamy coffee and smiling at the way his lip slightly upturned as he drank the beverage, he knew he was fucked.</p><p>That was now why George was sitting in the little corner coffee shop opposite his house, at the same table he had the previous day. There was no say whether the blonde boy George could not get off his mind would come again, (George had never seen him before, and he came here every day, so it seemed unlikely) but it was worth a shot to see those pink lips and goose-bumped arms once again.</p><p>Yeah, maybe his eyes shot up every single time the doorbell dinged to announce a new arrival, hoping it was the lovely blonde that had run through his head all night. However, that was irrelevant.</p><p>There were many problems with having a nameless, pretty boy on your mind when you are someone like George. Reason one, every single boy he has fallen for has been most definitely straight, and who was he to think that this boy was any different.</p><p>But, he has stuck in Georges mind anyway.</p><p>He knew it was no use waiting- The blonde boy hadn't arrived, and it looked as if George would be waiting longer than anticipated. So, he decided to call it quits.</p><p>He picked up his fountain pen, using a small cloth to dab any runaway ink droplets from the utensil before capping it. Although, he was hit with a shock as someone much taller than him knocked into his shoulder.</p><p>George looked up at who had knocked into him and couldn't find himself being able to reply to the others apologies, as it was who he had been waiting for. It was the blonde artist that had sat a few tables away from him yesterday. </p><p>Up close, his freckles were even more prominent, and the blush that was spreading over his nose and cheeks from being outside was harsher than the previous day.</p><p>"Are you alright?" </p><p>George mind cleared and his eyes stopped focusing on the blonde's features, "Sorry, I uh- Yeah. I'm fine." He was American, holy shit.</p><p>The blonde nodded, his hair bouncing a little as he did so. George had to bite his cheek to restrict himself from blurting out something embarrassing. </p><p>Turning away from Georges gaze, a small smile on his face as his eyesight reached the table before he gasped, "Oh! Crap, I am so sorry."</p><p>George looked down at the table. On top of his notepad, the other had dropped a tub of paint upon knocking into George. It had opened and spilt over onto the words that the notebook held.</p><p>His first reaction was to simply stare at the red glob and mutter a quiet, "Oh." Though after he realised that the paint may seep through the pages and ruin his other writing, he stood up from his chair, quickly standing the tub up how it should be and picking up his notebook.</p><p>He could feel the eyes of the other on him as he poured the paint from his book back into the tub, using the lid to scrape it off the paper. "My notebook.." He huffed as he watched the pages crinkle from the watery residue.</p><p>The blonde stood there awkwardly, rubbing his bicep with his palm as he watched the inked words leak across the page. He looked from the book to George and grimaced, "I uh- Fuck, I should have been more careful. I am really sorry about this mess- Uh-" He paused when George looked up to him.</p><p>"It's fine," George responded, closing the notebook and furrowing his brows, "I'll just buy a new one, it's fine." He fidgeted with the corner as he spoke.</p><p>The blonde shook his head, sitting down opposite George, placing down a small bag he had hooked over his shoulder and placing his pots of paints into it, "What's your order?"</p><p>George simply hummed absentmindedly in acknowledgement, not looking up toward the other as he ran his fingers over the short stanza he had written earlier that morning, "What?"</p><p>"You're order?" The blonde repeated before glancing up at George, "I ruined your writing and notebook, it's only reasonable that I pay you back for the damage," He explained before motioning to Georges empty cup.</p><p>"Oh!" George muttered before looking down with a small smile, shaking his head and feeling a blush blossom on his features, "You don't have to do that- It's fine."</p><p>The other smiled, "My name's Dream, by the way, nice to meet you." </p><p>George looked back up at him, "Dream?" He sought before giggling, "You truly live up to your name, huh-" He said before pausing, the blush previously on his face turning a deep shade of red, "I mean- My name is George." </p><p>Internally, George cringed at himself. That was not something you say to someone who you just met. </p><p>Dream grinned, "George! Well, now that we are friends, what's your order?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoy the first chapter :)</p><p>The rest of the chapters should be longer than this one, as I always have an introduction chapter of around 1k words! Next chapter should be out in the next few days.</p><p>Feedback in the form of comments is always great and keeps me motivated to continue writing, so if it's not much trouble, be sure to do so!<br/>Have a great day &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ⇢ ˗ˏˋ two࿐ྂ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Can I draw you?" He muttered in response. It appeared as though he was embarrassed by the simple question. However, before George could reply, he continued, "You can say no- It's just that you have a great facial structure- I've been needing someone to just sit still for me while I draw."</p><p>George simply tilted his head slightly in interest, an amiable smile making its way upon his face, "Of course you can." He responded, chewing his inner cheek before taking a sip of his latte.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
<i> He's a fucking dream boy.<br/>
I don't know who gave him the right to be so attractive,<br/>
He's like a God.<br/>
He won't leave my mind- No matter how hard I try to shoo him away.<br/>
I'm a mess- A whole portion of my mind is dedicated to him.<br/>
I'm attached.</i>
</p><p>"George!" Exclaimed a voice as George entered the coffee shop once again. It was that voice of silk with a hint of gravel to it.</p><p>He beamed as he turned to see Dream at his regular table, two cups sat on the table in front of him, and the same satchel from the previous day hooked on the back of his chair. George swiftly made his way over, admiring how the golden morning light shone through the windows and illuminated Dreams eyes and hair.</p><p>"Good morning!" The blonde exclaimed as George removed his backpack from his shoulder and placed it down at the foot of his chair before sitting, "I got you your regular, but with a bit of a twist."</p><p>George looked down at his cup and smiled. Within the foam of his drinks milk was a little smiley face.</p><p>The two of them had spent the entirety of yesterday, following their first meeting, discussing random topics that popped into their heads. They had debates about the best sort of coffee, the prettiest flower and the best brand of ink- They had filled the whole evening giggling along with each other until they were kicked from the café at closing time and relocated to a nearby park.</p><p>Eventually, Dream had to leave as it was late in the night. He had declared that his cat probably wanted to feed, so with that, they both left. Though not before agreeing to meet the following day at the same coffee shop they had met.</p><p>"We met yesterday- You've probably already spent over ten pounds on drinks for me," George said, removing his scarf from his neck and shaking his coat from his shoulders.</p><p>Dream shrugged, "I make a decent amount of money. Why not spoil my friends," He hummed as he placed his palm nervously over his closed sketchbook. He looked as if he wanted to say something.</p><p>Picking up on this, George raised a brow in the others direction, "What?"</p><p>"Can I draw you?" He muttered in response. It appeared as though he was embarrassed by the simple question. However, before George could reply, he continued, "You can say no- It's just that you have a great facial structure- I've been needing someone to just sit still for me while I draw."</p><p>George simply tilted his head slightly in interest, an amiable smile making its way upon his face, "Of course you can." He responded, chewing his inner cheek before taking a sip of his latte.</p><p>Clearly, Dream hadn't expected this answer, as the shock was expressed in his features, "Oh." He murmured before a mellow smile bloomed over his face, "Oh, great! That's great- Thank you. Would it be okay if we head over to the park again after we finish our drinks and I can do it there? The natural light would be much better, and the snowfall isn't as harsh as before."</p><p>In response, George nodded. He was looking forward to this- He had only ever been told about his great facial structure once by his brother-in-law, who happened to be a photographer and loved using him for shoots when he came to town.</p><p>So, the two chattered away. Time flew by as they rambled and told each other small parts about their lives. George found out Dream actually went to University and studied art and design, and that was why he had moved here from America.</p><p>"Honestly, I thought about going to Uni once," George spoke after listening intently to Dream explaining his course and how he coped with all the work, "But I guess I realised I didn't need it. I was making money from both the short stories I write and from my night job. Uni probably would have just stressed me out more."</p><p>Dream nodded, stacking their cups absentmindedly as he thought of what to say next, "Hm, I guess it is quite stressful. It really depends on what you're doing." He shrugged before looking from the cups to his sketchbook and then up to George, "Wanna go over to the park now? The sun's at it's prime- The lighting will be perfect."</p><p>With that, George grinned and picked up his coat and scarf, hooking them over his forearm and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. As he did this, Dream pulled on his jumper and slid his sketchbook and pencil case into his satchel before standing and pushing his chair in.</p><p>After arriving at the park, George allowed Dream to wander around for several minutes to find a spot that he considered perfect. It took him 10 minutes to locate an area next to a berry bush- His eyes had brightened upon laying them over it and a grin set on his face.</p><p>"Can you sit there for me?" He asked, motioning to a low step that was in front of the bush, "You can place your coat down and sit on that if it's wet."</p><p>George complied, not verbally replying as he sat where Dream had told him to. After sitting comfortably with his knees folded and his coat laid below him, he looked up at the other.</p><p>His eye's completely blurred for a moment as the sun caught his eyes- But when they focused once again, he noticed Dream stood frozen, silently gazing at him with a look that he couldn't quite place.</p><p>Suddenly, George grew slightly self-conscious under his stare and ducked his head, his eyes observing the creases of the other's jeans rather than his eyes.</p><p>"George."</p><p>In response to his name, George glanced back up at the other, holding his hand above his brow to shield his brown orbs from the sun before tilting his head slightly at Dream, "Yes, what?"</p><p>Dream sat down on a bench that stood around a foot away from where George sat. He pulled out his sketchbook and pencils before smiling slightly, "Stay exactly like that."</p><p>Nodding, George sat still. He could feel his body aching slightly already from sitting in the position, and Dreams eyes running over the features of him made him shift every so often.</p><p>He felt himself drifting off slightly as Dream hummed to himself, fingers gliding over the page. He wasn't precisely sure how long he had been sat in that position, but he did know the sun, glistening onto him through the clouds overhead along with the quiet atmosphere, forced fatigue onto his body.</p><p>"George." Hummed Dream, jolting said male out of his half-asleep state, "I've finished."</p><p>After coming to his senses, George stood and stretched out his limbs. The ache in his joints throbbing as he rolled his shoulders and wrists, sighing at the satisfying pops, "How you managed to convince me to sit still for so long, I will never know. My back feels stiff."</p><p>Dream chuckled, tapping the bench with his hand, gesturing for George to sit beside him. "This isn't my best piece of work," He sat as George picked up his bag and coat before sitting, "But you looked uncomfortable sat so long, so I rushed nearer to the end."</p><p>He turned the page towards George, a small nervous smile on his lips. George gasped as his eyes fixed over the graphite drawing. He was amazed- He could tell Dream genuinely cared about his work just by this singular drawing. Each individual stroke and even small details like barely visible moles and freckles were placed in just the right areas, showed how much talent the younger had.</p><p>"Do you... Like it?" Dream asked, nervously thumbing at the corner of the page, awaiting Georges feedback, "It's fine if you don't- I can try again-"</p><p>"It's beautiful." George cut in, gently taking the book from Dreams hand and admiring the portrait slightly closer to appreciate each mark and indent the paper created, "You are so talented, holy shit."</p><p>Dream seemed to let out a relieved breath at that, his previously tense shoulders slackening, "Thank God, I assumed you were gonna hate it or something."</p><p>Laughing, George returned the sketchbook back to Dream. He noticed how gently the blonde took it from him as if it was something fragile, like a child. He admired how carefully Dream treated his work- Showing how he truly cared about it, "I've never seen someone care so much about there artwork. But I can see why- You really have some talent, Dream."</p><p>It seemed that George's words brought a red shade to Dreams face, and it led the older to wonder if Dream had ever been complimented in this way, despite how good his art actually was- But that conversation was for another day.</p><p>"Thank you," Dream muttered, sliding his book and pencils into his bag and folding his hands into his lap, "That really means a lot to me." He added as a small smile covered his face.</p><p>George grinned, "You deserve the praise," He hummed, turning his head slightly before noticing the clouds moving across the sky above them. They were thick and grey, and it was clear that it was bound to rain.</p><p>Just their luck. The one time it decided to snow properly in years was obviously followed by heavy rain.</p><p>"I think we might have to cut this meeting short," Dream said as his gaze reached what George had been looking up at, "We have been out here for a good few hours. It's been nice."</p><p>"Agreed," George responded, pulling on his coat as the two of them stood. He turned to the other with a small smile, "And it was a pleasure to be your personal model for your art- It gave me an ego boost."</p><p>And with that, the two of them exchanged goodbyes and went their separate ways.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if there are any mistakes. My dumbass doesn't proof read and this chapter was meant to come out a week ago so I speedran.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. ⇢ ˗ˏˋ three࿐ྂ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He silently admired how fluently Dream moved when he sat and begun flicking through his sketchbook and moving things about his table- George felt like he was learning a new language.</p><p>Little did he know- He was.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George looked down at the piece of paper held in his hands. Ten digits and a smiley face.</p><p>He had noticed this precise smiley face on the drawing Dream had done earlier that day. It was <em>Dreams</em> signature. Somehow, Dream had managed to slide the piece of paper into George's notebook, and he had only discovered it because he had decided he wanted to write something.</p><p><em>Should he add the number and maybe shoot the other a text?</em> It wasn't too late at night- It was only around 10 pm, and talking to someone would be considerably more interesting than just sitting in his room contemplating what to write.</p><p>Though despite the urge to not type the number into his phone- a feeling in his gut told him that maybe he should.</p><p>So he did.</p><p>Now it was time to contemplate what to send to the other, who trusted him- someone he met only a day before- with his number. Something private. Something that gave George a direct route of contact.</p><p>George hadn't thought about it until then, but it confused him as to why he decided to trust that American at first sight.</p><p>For all he knew, Dream could have a terrible history that could put him in grave danger- but at the same time, the mystery was thrilling.</p><p>But one thing that bugged him was how quick he happened to trust the younger.</p><p>He usually took a while to warm up to someone enough to have a normal conversation.</p><p>It made him shiver.</p><p>But surely that meant he could trust Dream more.</p><p>Everything with them just seemed to click. The two were very similar- But also complete opposites. George was even amazed at how Dream managed to keep an interesting conversation with him through his dry and awkward replies.</p><p>Inevitably, he knew the decision he had made. The decision made at 11 pm on a Thursday was that Dream seemed genuine. Although, despite the fact he would still be weary around the American- He had George's trust.</p><p>So George mustered up all courage he had to send a quick message:</p><p>
  <em>you better not be a notorious killer or something.</em>
</p><p>The short message did not indicate as to who he was- but cleary humour he was trying to portray through it.</p><p>
  <em>sorry<br/>
who is this??</em>
</p><p>George laughed at this response. He knew it was the reply he would have received after sending an anonymous message- but that was what made it funnier.</p><p>
  <em>it's George :]</em>
</p><p>He was now seriously hoping that he hadn't accidentally typed in the wrong number, as that would lead to embarrassment for him. So, he waited in slight nervousness as the three dots taunted him.</p><p>After five minutes and the dots disappearing four separate times- he began to lose hope.</p><p>Groaning, he placed his phone face down on his chest and closed his eyes. How could he have typed the wrong number? It was right there in front of him on that small piece of paper, but somehow it was written wrong. how-</p><p>There was a ding.</p><p>His eyes shot open, and he immediately lited his phone up to look at the screen.</p><p>
  <em>oh! :0<br/>
you found my note :D</em>
</p><p>Oh.</p><p>A smile made its way onto Georges face- one that reached his eyes and showed his teeth. He had never been this excited to talk to someone before.</p><p>Not only that, but Dream used emoticons like they're a religion. That was an instant tick in Georges mental book.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah.<br/>
i thought i'd do some late-night writing<br/>
it fell out of my book.</em>
</p><p>George had quickly typed back. He had completely forgotten he had been writing until then and looked down to his notepad and pen laid beside him on his bed.</p><p>He made a mental note to clean those up before he went to bed.</p><p>
  <em>XD<br/>
sorry i didnt know how to give it to you upright bc im awkward<br/>
but thank god you found it now, i am practically dying of boredom, haha</em>
</p><p>Reading over the three messages, he laughed.</p><p>It was good that not only he but also Dream was too awkward to do things upfront. It was a relief.</p><p>
  <em>Oh also.<br/>
My hands are pretty full right now.<br/>
Want to call or smth to make this easier?<em></em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George sat up. He knew it would be easier for himself, too, as he'd be able to write while talking with the other- As it means he'd be hands-free.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>But at the same time, it felt strange to reveal someone he barely knew to himself when he was in his safe place and where he was most vulnerable. So the obvious answer was;</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>Oh! yeah, sure :]<br/>
voice or video?</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>What?</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>His fingers were definitely not rigged up to his brain as they typed out and sent that small response- But hey, it's not the worst thing that could have happened.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>video would be nice if you're comfy w/ it<br/>
maybe I'll draw you again :eyes:</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George felt his smile grow that little bit wider before quickly returning to a straight face. <em>Don't be weird, George.</em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Luckily, he hadn't gotten into his pyjamas yet- But had instead changed out of his brown jumper (that had become wet from earlier rain) into a soft, knitted baby blue jumper that was a few sizes too big on him.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Standing from his bed, he gathered all his writing supplies into his arms and laid them out on his bedrooms desk, rather than having them strewn over his bed.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He inhaled before hovering his thumb over the FaceTime button. He looked around his room quickly before realising how much of a geek he looked.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Two floor to ceiling shelves packed with books sat against his beige walls on either side of his bed, only one shelve on the left case remaining half empty to use as a bedside table.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He also had a smaller shelf that held a variety of different succulents and potted flowers. Beneath the fairy light lined shelf and above the bed with faux leaves wrapped around the headboard was his pride flag.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Oh.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Now, this could lead to several problems. The first one being, George had no clue about Dreams stance on gay people. He could ignore the whole thing, or he would hate-crime George.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Hopefully, it would be more of the 'silent acceptance' ignored than the 'I don't know what that is' or 'I'll deal with that later' ignored.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>That's the moment he thought, screw it. He'd rather cut all ties with someone he barely knew that ended up being homophobic than stay closeted and hiding that part of himself.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>Did you fall asleep or smth?<br/>
geooorge</em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George chuckled. Seeing how impatient Dream was becoming and how long he had been contemplating with his thumb over the call button, he finally decided to sit down, press the button and then position the phone in front of himself.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>A small, "Hi!" That was what he received when Dream picked up after three rings.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The happy tone of the word caused a small smile to break out onto Georges features before he spoke, "Hello."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He saw Dream shuffle around some things in front of himself before propping his phone up in what looked to be a dining room.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He silently admired how fluently Dream moved when he sat and begun flicking through his sketchbook and moving things about his table- George felt like he was learning a new language.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Little did he know- He was.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"What're you up to?" Dream asked as he stopped fiddling around with his things. He gazed up to his phone to look at George (who had been staring at him through the device).</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Though George managed to make it seem as if he was looking past the phone, at something else to save himself the awkwardness of staring- He looked to his phone, eventually to respond, "Trying to write," He said before looking down to his notepad and sighing, "Keyword 'trying'. Struggling, though."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He saw Dream nod as he looked back up to switch his laptop on, thinking it would be easier to write with his keyboard than his hands. He noticed how Dream still wore the yellow turtleneck he had been wearing earlier- And wondered if he lived close enough to the park for it not to get wet when walking home after it rained.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"I get that all the time with my art," Dream replied, raking a hand through his blonde hair, "Try getting inspired by music- Or grab a book, find a random line and then write a story using that line to start." He suggested with a shrug, motioning towards his screen at what George presumed was his bookshelf.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George hummed at the manageable proposals, instantly pulling up Spotify on his laptop before biting his lip and turning to Dream, "You don't mind if I play my Spotify playlist in the background, do you?" He asked, somewhat shy.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Though all he received was a soothing smile, "Of course not, go ahead."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>So George did so, clicking shuffle on his playlist and beaming as Dream started to hum the melody that began playing after realising he recognised it.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Then the two sat in almost silence, the only sounds being the clacking of Georges keys, the gentle music and Dreams occasional hums. It was nice.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George hadn't even noticed nearly an hour had passed until Dream shattered his focused thoughts with his voice.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"What's your favourite colour?" He had asked, looking up at the other through his lashes, head not fully tilted.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The brunet paused his writing to turn to the other, biting his cheek for a meer second before he replied, "Blue."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"Like your sweater?" Dream asked, lifting his head.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George smiled slightly as the question was so childlike. He glanced down at his jumper, though and nodded, looking back up, "Yeah," He returned, "Like my... Sweater."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The slight mocking American accent George had put on made Dream grin, "Why blue, may I ask?"</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"I'm colourblind," The older shrugged in response, "I can only actually see yellow and blue, just in varying shades.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He received a few seconds of quiet afterwards before Dream hummed, "Oh- That's interesting to know."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Then there was a few moments more of silence when George reverted to writing before he was once again interrupted by Dream, "Wait- That means my sweaters yellow?"</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>George giggled, holding his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to muffle it slightly, "Yeah- It looks like piss."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>"What!" He exclaimed, "Piss! Are you kidding? I'm wearing a piss sweater?"</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Biting his lip to hold in his little chuckles, George nodded, "Sorry for the bad news. But yes, you're wearing a piss sweater."</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>He was glad he had found a friend like Dream.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I finally fixed the italics.</p><p>Hope you enjoy this chapter though! The next ones already being written, so hopefully, it will be out soon!</p><p>Kudos and comments appreciated :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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